The Lords of HyBrazil
by Vorenn
Summary: The Lords of Hy-Brazil have decided to involve themselves in the outside world, after five hundred years of silence and infighting. What plan does their new leader have for Albion? Can Merlin stop it? Will he even want to?


The room was filled with multiple shadows. There were, of course, the literal shadows that were cast on the white marble floor from the torches on the walls, and from the various figures in the room, some in their thrones, and others walking around and waiting. And then there were the greater shadows, the shadows in their hearts. They were afraid and angry, the people in this room. They had been to driven into a corner, and they did not like it. And now, a child had the audacity to command them to come, at his bidding. No, they were definitely not happy about the situation.

It was a large room, circular, made of pure white marble, just like the floor. Their ornate chairs were also made from the same stone, and surrounded a large round oak table. Other than this, there was nothing. Not even a door was in this room. For only those who had been to it before, could ever enter it again.

Such was the way of the Lords of Hy-Brazil.

Every one of them was ready to slit the throats of the others, just as they had eagerly sought to kill almost every priest or priestess of the Old Religion. Some watched from the walls, openly stroking their daggers or sword hilts, or drumming their fingers upon their staffs. Each of them wore silk robes, though the colors varied. Some wore jewelry, others did not. There were a few women in the room, also in formal robes, though not many. Patriarchy was in the blood of the system, but even more than a thousand years of patriarchy could be overcome by sheer power, and that was how they had gotten into this chamber. What was interesting was that they all, men and women alike, seemed to be between the ages of about twenty-five to thirty, and all of them were considered some of the most beautiful people the world had ever produced. And yet, almost assuredly, none of them was less than a hundred.

Magic had its perks.

But they had all been summoned by one young man. One young man, who's power was great enough to make them all shiver in cold sweats at night. He had caught them all off guard with his miraculous appearance during Uther's Purge, at the death of Lord Daranell. They had been looking for a warlock or witch capable of taking his seat, and the boy had won it.

Even over Daranell's own children. And the children of other, already active, Lords.

They had grinned and saluted him in public, and plotted his death in private. Lord Marandin had tried first, with poison, which had apparently had no effect. Then he moved on to full scale assault by assassins. And not cheap ones either. Professionals, hired directly from the Middle East, trained in who knows how many deadly arts.

And Marandin had been disemboweled in his own throne room not a day after the attempt had been thwarted. And that had cowed the other Lords into submission, for a while. Smaller, less public attempts were made after that, all of which had been stopped or shut down. He almost seemed untouchable.

The boy had power, an alarming amount of power. And he knew how to use it to boot. And he was only nineteen years old! Just, where did the bastard come from? He had to have come from Hy-Brazil, no one born outside had entered the island for five hundred years, so where had he come from? That was the question that had been running through all of their minds for the past five years.

Yes, he had become a Lord of Hy-Brazil at the age of fourteen. And the bastard had pretty much ruled over them for five years, through the usual methods of backstabbing, forming temporary alliances, blackmail, and bribery, and always making sure he came out on top. You don't know how that irked the rest of them.

And so here they were, waiting, watching, and plotting. Having to meet the boy scared them all, individually, but there was some measure of conformity amongst the party.

Together, they could take him.

He never spoke with his own voice directly from his lips. He spoke with his mind, and the voice he used had made more than a few of them privately admit that they had pissed themselves a little behind their robes when they heard it. It was deep, hollow, filled with the emptiness that comes from the time between lightning, and the thunder that followed it.

A blue light gathered at the center of the room, surprising all of them. Slowly it drew itself upward, and a blue robe with a silver rope wrapped around it flowed out of it until the full figure of the source of their torment emerged before them. He had shocking white hair, pulled back into a braid that went down his back to his hips. His eyes were gray, like stone, and deep set. He had high cheekbones, with a small nose, and his lips had some measure of scarring. He was of about average height, and not very muscular. He would normally have been thought of as an easy target in a fight.

And his enemies would have been torn to shreds in the instant they thought that, as the Lords of Hy-Brazil had learned.

His eyes swept across the room, hard and emotionless. He was looking, making sure that all of them were there. If there was anyone missing, he might well immediately demand their head. Muscles tensed, and fingers gripped at weapons. Some fools believed that they could actually fight him. The women were much more relaxed. They understood what rule by the strong meant, for it was that very reason that allowed them to be where they were.

He moved slowly in a circle as he examined the room, and then finally returned to his original position. There were some audible sighs of relief, and people shifting themselves to be more comfortable.

_You have done well to come here, my lords and ladies, _his deep voice rang out into their minds, and some of them shivered as he spoke. They could all feel the power behind that voice. That was what made them shake. That voice felt like it could shake mountains.

_I have summoned you here for a great purpose. Greater than any one of your petty schemes and desires. Greater than even the current glory of Hy-Brazil itself. Some of you shall partake of that glory. Some of you shall try to. Some of you will reject this, and you know that I will not tolerate those who go against me. You will be banished from Hy-Brazil, and from the Arcane Fountain forever, or executed right now for treason against Hy-Brazil._

He said this flatly, simply, calmly, as if he were talking about this afternoon's tea. Was he so drunk with his power that he thought he could permanently banish Lords of Hy-Brazil from the island they lived on? Was he _insane? _Did the bastard actually think he had the right to permanently cut people off from the Arcane Fountain, and that he could do it without inspiring revolution?

His power suddenly appeared before them all. Not the normal amount they had experienced before, that made him seem stronger than at least five of the Lords of Hy-Brazil. No, this was more, much more. Finally, the bastard put his full power on display, for all of the Lords of Hy-Brazil to know and feel. And it made them tremble. Some gasped. Some had tears in their eyes. Some fell to their knees.

All of them realized: he could. Who knew the depths of that strength of his? What was he not capable of, with that much power? He could, and he _would _banish whoever defied him, and permanently cut them off from the greatest source of magic outside of the lands of the sidhe or the holy places of the Old Religion, or he would kill them, right here, right now. He would utterly destroy all those who opposed him. This man had more power than the entire Council of Lords of Hy-Brazil combined, though only just barely. It terrified them.

The closest thing to a god that the Lords of Hy-Brazil would acknowledge stood before them now.

Dissension and infighting was no longer an option. The boy had decided that the normal chaos of Hy-Brazil was over. Council rule was over. Dictatorship had just been installed. No, more than that. Divine rule had been made this day.

And what made it even worse was that the boy had known. He had known he could do it at any time. They had all been playing against each other, vying for tiny scraps of power, when it had all already been in this bastard's hand. He had let them continue with business as usual for years even, until he had decided that the game was up, and it was time for his will to be done, no longer through subtle manipulation, but through simple obedience. The noose around all of their necks had been tightened fully, and they had been dropped through the floor, all in a single stroke and a few sentences. Oh, the agony!

"Damn you, you little bastard," one of the gentlemen in black robes actually had the audacity to say out loud.

The room went dead silent. All eyes were on the poor man. The boy turned slowly to him.

_Is this defiance, or acquiescence? _he asked softly.

The old man grunted. "I can't fight you. I know it. But still, damn you for playing us all like this! We are Lords of Hy-Brazil! We are not your puppets!"

And for the first time, to everyone's surprise, the boy smiled with those scarred lips. It was cruel, cold, and filled with the promise of total domination or oblivion. Perhaps he was mad, after all. Then he spoke softly to all of them, from his lips for the first time. His voice was deep, rich, and soft when he said, "You are, my lord. Just as you always were."

It was quite a day for Hy-Brazil. It was a day the people never forgot.


End file.
